


Depth Over Distance (Every Time)

by jostcn



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Brotherly Angst, Brothers, Comfort/Angst, F/M, Healing, M/M, Mental Health Issues, POV Aaron Minyard, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:21:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25787986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jostcn/pseuds/jostcn
Summary: Three years ago, Aaron Minyard killed a man.
Relationships: Katelyn/Aaron Minyard, Kevin Day/Aaron Minyard, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 4
Kudos: 88





	Depth Over Distance (Every Time)

**Author's Note:**

> please be aware of the tags :)

When he wakes up on the 24th of November, the wind blows through his window loud enough that he can't hear the wild beating of his heart even though it's nature and not the whistle of air passing through a racquet that will crush someone's skull. 

He clambers for his phone at his bedside and sits upright, ignoring the blaring _7:15_ on his clock. He turns it on and glances at the messages as his pulse slows its tempo, just barely. 

**Nicky**

_U doing okay, bud? Call_

_me if u need anything_

_Erik and I made u and_

_Andrew a care package._

_Sending all our love_

_from Germany <3 _

_Thanks, Nicky. I'll call you_

_tomorrow._

**Kate**

_i left so you could sleep in… i'll_

_let you_ _know what you missed in class._

_are you all right?_

_Thank you. I'm okay._

**Neil**

_I know you hate me but I really_

_think you should call Andrew._

Aaron blinks at his phone. He doesn't remember putting Neil's number into his contacts and no matter how badly he just wants to ignore the text and provoke an argument, he finds himself responding anyway. 

_Is he awake?_

_And I don't hate you._

_Yes._

Aaron doesn't call right away, despite his urge to. He gets up from under the blankets and paces a few minutes before making his way to the coffee machine he and Katelyn had decided to invest in not long after the move. He brews a full pot. Waits. Stares out of the window of their apartment. Listens to the small amount of traffic outside.

He wants to be alone. He wants company. He wants...

He pulls his phone out again and taps onto Andrew's icon, wrapping one hand tightly around his coffee mug as if it will somehow ease his tremor and holding his cell phone to his ear with the other.

"Aaron," he hears, and his stomach bottoms out. Drake is on the floor. Blood pools around him and blood is staining the white sheets of a bed and blood splatters on his and his brother's face but he can't stop it, can't go back even if he wanted to. Andrew's laugh echoes in his mind and won't leave. 

_Drake's dead. He deserved it. If I could bring him back from the dead and kill him again I would._

"Snap out of it," Andrew says, his voice rougher than usual. 

"I'm sorry," Aaron whispers. _For not knowing. For not doing something. For not protecting you the way you protected me. For never understanding, all these years._ "Are you okay?"

"Stop apologizing." Andrew clears his throat and doesn't answer the question. "I'll pick you up in thirty."

Whether it was by choice or chance, Andrew had managed to get onto a pro team in Michigan with Neil after Aaron had announced he and Katelyn were going to med school there. If that hadn't been convenient enough, they got an apartment only twenty minutes away from Aaron's. Either way, he's relieved; the thought of Andrew being on the other side of the country is nerve-wracking. 

"Okay," he breathes, trying to remind himself that they both have to make an effort. _You can't say little and expect it to suffice,_ Betsy Dobson's voice reminds him, soothing. "Okay. I'll see you soon."

He doesn't bother to change out of his pajamas. Aaron dumps the untouched coffee into the sink and tries not to heave. He needs Katelyn to come and hold him tight, to run one hand up and down his back with the other pressing his head against her stomach. He needs Nicky's warm smiles and too-tight hugs that should remind him of Tilda but don't. He needs to be back at Palmetto where everyone he cares about is in one place and he can keep a watchful eye. 

Outside, there is a blast from the horn of a Maserati. He swallows the fear bubbling in his throat, shoving a sweatshirt and beat-up pair of tennis shoes on. He locks the door behind him and takes one, two, twenty-six feet to the street where Andrew idles at the curb, window rolled down, cigarette hanging from his lips with his armbands on. 

"Those things will kill you," Aaron says, getting in the passenger seat. He instantly regrets it when he receives a deadpan stare and a long drag. Why is he so nervous? It's been three years. It isn't like they haven't done this before on the anniversary of that wretched day.

_But this is different,_ his brain reminds him. Because they're together but they're not, not really. This isn't South Carolina. This isn't quite home yet, and the hesitation from Andrew as he turns the corner to another unknown street tells Aaron he's thinking the same thing. 

He looks down and his hands are red. The sheets are red. The sheets are red and Drake is on top of Andrew and Andrew's hands are pinned above his head and Andrew is laughing and _Andrew, Andrew, Andrew._

_You should've been there. You should've ignored his letter, should've found a way to help even if Tilda killed you for it._

"Do you remember it?" Aaron asks. They've never talked about that night. Andrew's previous encounters with Drake and the others, yes, but not that night. Never that night. 

Andrew's hands visibly tighten on the wheel as he pulls onto a back road.

Aaron waits. The clouds have darkened, ready to unleash their fury at any moment. The wind doesn't deter Andrew's steady driving, but it blows yellow and brown leaves all around them in a whirlwind.

"I was high on the medication," Andrew offers, his eyebrows scrunching together for a second before flattening. "But Easthaven made me remember."

Something had happened there. Aaron never asked. Never will. Only Neil knows, and Aaron sits there for a moment wondering why he's grateful. 

"He didn't touch you," Andrew grits his teeth together. A glance at the speedometer reveals that he's going ten under the speed limit. 

The rain begins to patter onto the windshield. Aaron realizes that Andrew needs confirmation, a reminder, so he looks at his brother and forces his voice not to break. _You protected me. Suffered for me._ "He didn't touch me."

_Looks like I was right about him after all. Or do you still think this is all a big misunderstanding?_

No, Aaron doesn't regret it. He should. Maybe. Maybe not. Andrew had tried to tell Luther Hemmick, and what had he gotten? Nothing. Nothing but bullshit about _brotherly love_ and it makes Aaron sick even though there was nothing he could've done.

He pushes the bile down from his throat. The idea that his brother might despise him is too much to bear. Maybe the answer is blatantly obvious and for once, he's too stupid to see it.Does Andrew hate him for doing something he wanted to do himself? _I don't care. I don't care if Andrew never speaks to me again_. It's a lie he told himself—told Neil—after Drake. It's a lie he hasn't told himself in a while. He needs to ask or it will eat away at him until he's nothing but decayed matter. "Do you hate me? For killing him?"

"Do you still hate me for killing your mother," Andrew responds, too flat to be a question, as if he's forcing himself to sound careless about the potential answer. Or maybe he's not. Maybe he doesn't care.

_Good,_ Neil had said. _So now you understand why Andrew killed your mother._ All those sessions with Betsy talking about foster homes and past abuse and drugs and court hearings and Aaron finally coming to understand how someone could kill Tilda. "I never hated you." _I never understood you. I think I do now._

Andrew doesn't reply. He does, however, look away from the road to press 'play' on the CD player, immediately returning his eyes to their former position. Linkin Park's _What I've Done_ breezes through the speakers. 

Aaron's shoulders loosen. He rests his forehead against the window and listens to music he hasn't heard in years. Drake and the Hemmicks' bedroom and Andrew's tremor disappears from view. "Thank you." 

"Shut up," Andrew says, his gaze flicking to meet Aaron's. "We're Minyards."

_There's nothing to thank me for_ , Aaron guesses from the lack of clarification, and maybe _I'd do it again._

"Are you hungry for pancakes?" He asks. 

Andrew turns on the next street and heads back towards the city, _The Little Things Give You Away_ filling the comfortable silence. 


End file.
